


Echo Behind A Bullet, Ripple In A Pond

by hufflepirate



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Carrying, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hot Tub, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Napping, Schrödinger's Slash?, blisters, nobody knows if they're romantic and we're all too tired to work it out, wound care
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 18:08:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20856020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepirate/pseuds/hufflepirate
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of the battle for Kepler, Stern and Barclay really ought to have that "talk later." Unfortunately, immediate aftermaths are A Lot, and Joe's not processing things so well right now.Barclay mostly just keeps picking him up a lot, which is alright, too.Could probably be rated T, but just for the cussin’?[Look, sometimes you're just really tired and stressed and you want to vicariously cuddle Bigfoot, alright? It's mostly just cuddles and crying and more cuddles and bandages and cuddles. And some hot springs. I dunno. Stern's like that baby whose parents dote on them so much they never have to walk anywhere. But with anxiety about getting fired.]





	Echo Behind A Bullet, Ripple In A Pond

**Author's Note:**

> I fudged the timeline a little, by which I mean these two had never occurred to me, other than vague surprise at that 'best friends' line in episode 33 until Griffin said Sternclay rights in the finale, and by then I was fuzzy on the details of the end of episode 35. It's close. It's almost how it timed out. ;P

The Quell's monsters sagged all at once, slumping to the ground. Joseph jerked his gun downward as he fired it, narrowly missing Mama where she stood across from him, behind where the monster he'd been aiming at had stood.

The gunshot was loud in the sudden silence of the Quell's absence.

The bullet dug itself into the dirt a few inches from the fallen monster, and Mama was fine.

The silence rang in his ears as they stared at each other.

Then Mama burst out into wild, cackling laughter, almost hunched over with the force of it, and at the sound of a heavy breath to his left he turned to find Barclay equally hunched, his clawed hands resting heavily on his thighs as he leaned into them, breathing as hard as if he'd run a marathon.

Barclay was Bigfoot. Barclay had been Bigfoot for this whole fight, and he was pretty sure that shouldn't already feel normal. In some ways, it didn't. But in some ways - Bigfoot was only a few feet away from him, and he was catching his breath, and he was _Barclay_.

He was still staring when Barclay caught his breath and looked up, half-smiling for a moment before suddenly furrowing his brow, his mouth pulling down into a frown. "You're shaking," he said.

Joseph looked down at his hands, still holding the rifle at a downward angle toward the ground. Barclay was right. It was shaking like a leaf. "Huh."

He'd moved his finger off the trigger after he fired his last shot, as much by instinct as anything else, but now he actually engaged the safety and then found himself unsure of what to do with the thing. His usual service weapon could have gone back in its usual holster, but this was Agent Hanes's gun, and a rifle besides, and after a moment, he just walked over and set it down on top of the one untouched crate of semtex, miraculously still whole where Barclay had set it down where they'd hoped it would be out of the way.

Their barricade of the other crates had lasted a while, but not long enough, and then they'd lost their tactical advantage, and they'd just been - it had just been - there wasn't enough barrier left to set his gun on, and it was nice to know that at least it was broken. It was nice to know they hadn't just messed up and let those _things _by. It had really been too much for them, right up until it hadn't, and now -

He turned around to find Barclay closer to him, and flinched in surprise. Barclay stepped back, almost out of arm's reach. "Oh! Sorry, I - just give me a second to find my bracelet and I-"

Joseph's right hand shot out to stop him before his brain could even catch up to doing it. "No, it's - you just surprised me."

Bigfoot chuckled, and sounded like Barclay, and that was - oh boy, that was a lot. His hand was tangled in Bigfoot's fur, and Bigfoot was real, and he was _touching Bigfoot_, and that was - things were - Bigfoot was _Barclay_, and that had been one thing when Barclay was Bigfoot and the world was ending, and it was something else now that Bigfoot was Barclay and the world hadn't ended at all, and then Barclay took a half-step closer, wrapping one huge, clawed hand around his left elbow to stabilize him.

"Are you ok? You look - you're shaking _real hard_."

Joseph nodded. He nodded. He nodded. Oh, god, he was nodding too long. The world had been ending. It hadn't ended. He was alive. They were both alive. Mama was still laughing, and something about it sounded raw and ragged and _wrong_, and he felt that, too.

He realized his eyes were watering when Bigfoot went from being Bigfoot-but-Barclay to just a fuzzy, furry thing supporting him while he shook from head to toe, and when he blinked hard to clear them, he found that he was crying.

"Joe-" Barclay said, and his voice was soft as hell, and he sounded like _himself_, even with that huge Bigfoot barrel chest and the fangs and all, and Joe had _always _been meant to be finding Bigfoot, but he'd only _just _found out the world was ending, but now it _wasn't _ending and Bigfoot was _here_, and the Lodge was closed, but Barclay was _right in front of him_, and before Barclay could properly start what he was trying to say, Joe tumbled forward, legs too shaky to work properly, and found himself crying into Barclay's fur.

Big, muscular arms pulled him in, and Barclay's claws didn't even so much as _hint_ at scratching him through his shirt even as he rubbed his back, and _oh god, he'd been in a full-scale battle in just his shirt_, and _why hadn't he taken the time to take Agent Hanes's body armor? _

Somehow, he was sobbing now, harder than before and twice as confusing, and he still wasn't even sure what he was crying _about_.

"Buddy-" Barclay's voice was deep and rumbling and he could feel it in the enormous chest he was leaning into, and it was still Barclay, and Joe almost choked on the next sob as it pulled its way out of his mouth.

"Aw, what the fuck, why not," Barclay muttered, sighing over it like he was giving in to one of Aubrey's overly-excited requests for dinner tonight to be chocolate chip pancakes, because didn't he think International Sloth Day was worth celebrating.

In one swift, casual motion, Barclay swept his shaking legs out from under him and cradled him in his arms, and all of a sudden, Joe could reach better to wrap his arms around Barclay's neck, so he did it, pulling himself in even closer as he rearranged his grip and buried his face back in Barclay's furry shoulder.

At some point, Mama had stopped laughing. He didn't know when that had happened. He _did _know he was glad Barclay couldn't see his face turning red when she joked, "I think that one's supposed to come _after _the weddin', boys."

Barclay groaned at the joke, but he didn't sound upset, and Joe just hoped no one thought he was crying because of Mama. He wasn't. He was crying because - fuck. He didn't know. Another loud sob wracked his body, and Barclay adjusted minutely to pull him closer as he twisted his head to whisper in his ear. "It's alright. We're gonna be ok. We're gonna figure everything out."

Oh _god_, why was this happening? Why was he just curled up here stupid _crying _like some kind of _child_ into Barclay's chest, when all he'd really wanted all this time the Lodge was closed was just to see him again? Why was he ruining what was probably going to be a short-lived reunion by getting snot in Barclay's fur? What was he _doing_?

He managed a nod only after Barclay had already switched back to full volume, "Hey, Mama, can you see if you can find where I dropped my bracelet. I think with the Quell and all, we can probably just take off, but our window won't last forever.

"No-" Joe choked out, "No, I can -"

"You can stay right here," Barclay said, almost - amused? Could he really be amused? "I can still feel you shaking. No use getting down to help look and having your legs give out."

"I'm fine." He was still crying, and the words came out mangled, and he concentrated the full force of his will into keeping the sob that threatened to follow them at bay.

"Yeah," Barclay answered, his voice rumbling through Joseph's whole body where they were pressed together. "You are."

"I'm sorry," he managed, now that he was talking. "I'm sorry, I-"

"You've had a long day," Mama interrupted, in a stern, decisive voice he associated more with trying to keep Jake from skateboarding indoors than with anything else, and all of a sudden, he was sobbing again and he still couldn't work out why.

"Well, shoot, Barclay,” she continued, like nothing had happened, "Your bracelet's right next to your own foot. We can go ahead and head out, if you don't think it's safe to wait for them."

Them? _Shit!_ Them. Joseph took a deep breath, trying again to get a grip on himself. The others had gone through the gate. They'd done something over there, something that stopped the Quell and made its monsters crumple like empty puppets, and he hadn't even remembered to think about them, once it was all over.

"D'you -" Barclay sounded more unsure than Joseph was used to, and he tightened his arms around his neck instinctively, hoping it was comforting. "D'you think we can just - cross over, now?"

Before Mama could answer, an explosion rocked the clearing.

Joseph started, twisting around in Barclay's arms just in time to see a rift tear open in front of them, not quite aligned with the gate, a flash of bright white that gaped wide and pulled Mama through and snapped itself shut again before Barclay could take more than two steps toward it.

The shock jolted him out of his tears.

Barclay _roared_, a full-throated animal sound that was almost deafening this close up. Then it shifted into a normal old human yell as he called for Mama.

Joseph found himself breathing hard, either from the crying or the surprise, and closed his eyes to concentrate on slowing it down, ignoring the rocking feeling of Barclay running somewhere with him still cradled in his arms. Then he opened his eyes again, calmer, and realized he didn't have anywhere to put his hands except Barclay's cheek.

"Hey," he said softly, laying a hand tentatively on the side of Barclay's face and pushing just hard enough that Barclay would know he wanted him to look over, without actually forcing the issue.

Barclay's eyes were wide and frightened and _human _in the midst of Bigfoot's fur, and as they looked into his own, he found his face starting to flush.

"Hey," he said again, "Let's just - let's figure this out. You all knew about the gate, so presumably you know how to open it. Maybe she's just on the other side. Maybe it just looked strange."

"No," Barclay answered, his voice closer to a growl than Joe had ever heard it. "The gate's gone dark. It was something else. Something broke the gate. _That's _what took Mama."

"So - shit, ok. So who could have broken the gate? Or what?"

"I don't know," Barclay said, and somehow, _somehow_, the soft sadness in it was worse than the rage.

He still had an arm around Barclay's neck, and he turned it into a hug, twisting to gather as much of Barclay's shoulders as possible into the embrace.

Barclay pulled him tighter in response, the strength of his arms almost crushing.

He wasn't sure if it was a relief or not that Barclay loosened the hug without actually putting him down. He wasn't sure what it meant if it was. He didn't ask to be put down.

"Ok," he said, running a hand through his hair. "Ok. So Aubrey said something about two worlds. You're from the other one, but you don't know about getting back and forth between worlds other than the gate. But it's not - shit. Ok, it _seems _like there ought to be more than one way in, but I- _fuck_. What do you even google for that?"

All of a sudden, Barclay chuckled, a quick little burst of laughter that ruffled Joseph's hair. "I don't know that, either," he answered, a little less sad this time. "But I might know where to start. We gotta find Minerva."

Before he could ask who Minerva was, Barclay suddenly cleared his throat and started putting him down, quickly but gently. "Oh! Sorry! I got - uh - a little preoccupied."

Joe didn't know how to tell him it was alright. He didn't know how to tell him he'd liked it, in his arms. He didn't know how to tell him it had felt safe. He didn't even know how to say it to himself. He tested out his legs, stomping them against the ground to confirm that they'd stopped shaking, and was almost disappointed that they had.

*****

Even with Barclay's bracelet back on and the illusion firmly in place, it was hard not to think about the fact that he was _running through the woods with Bigfoot_.

He wasn't sure why he hadn't protested when Barclay said they'd be faster on foot, even though they actually had no idea where they were going. Maybe he just hadn't been thinking clearly enough, with his head still stuffy from crying.

His head wasn't foggy now, everything sharpened by the pain of the stitch in his side as he ran too far over ground too rough in the wrong shoes. Stupid fucking dress codes. They'd been an emergency site around a mysterious gate to a world with mountain-breaking wizards in it. Why had some of them still had to be in suits?

He was pretty sure his heels were blistered, but he wasn't sure if that was a new problem or an old one. His brogues wouldn't have been his first choice for fighting in, either.

He tripped, not for the first time, and Barclay caught him, also not for the first time, and he wondered how much of Bigfoot was still here next to him, hidden in the plaid-shirted cook he'd thought he knew so well.

"I'm - I'm slowing you down," he panted, "Aren't I?"

Barclay chuckled, which was practically insulting, because it meant he had the breath to spare for _chuckling, _even if not for a full on laugh. "I'm not gonna leave you alone in the middle of the woods, Stern."

"We really should have thought to - take a car. Or - you know - a Jeep or something. An ATV." The words were still hard to manage, as he ran, but he wasn't about to give in just because it was hard.

Barclay twisted to look at him - to _really _look at him - as they ran. "Forgot you were in a fucking suit."

Just because he didn't have the breath to laugh didn't mean he couldn't manage the breath to joke.

"Didn't you hear - Aubrey when I - moved in? I _am _a fucking - suit."

"Aww, she didn't mean it. Well, she might've. You're alright, though."

"Gee - thanks." It was getting harder and harder to breathe, and more of his body hurt from running, and this time when he tripped, Barclay missed catching him and he slammed into the ground. "Fuck! Asshole."

"Who?" Barclay asked, slowing to a stop.

Joseph knew he should push himself back up to his feet. He didn't. He rolled over onto his back and breathed heavily. "You. Mr. - forgetting about Jeeps."

Barclay snorted, rolling his eyes. "That one's not even good." He reached a hand down and Joe took it, even though it meant he had to get up.

He hadn't forgotten Barclay's real strength as much as he'd forgotten to account for it, and his eyes widened a little as Barclay hauled him all the way up to his feet in one shockingly smooth movement.

"Fuck," Joe panted again, "You're really not even tired, are you?"

Barclay had turned away from him, back toward town, but Joe's voice sounded defeated even to his own ears, and Barclay turned around again to look at him, his eyes softening as he looked him up and down.

Sometimes, Joseph would have felt embarrassed to be looked at like that, so thoroughly, and him in what was now a _very _filthy and ratty suit, with a ripped knee and tattered sleeves and mud all over and his tie long gone, abandoned at the facility when he didn't want the monsters having something so easy to grab ahold of. Now he just stood there, sore and tired and staring straight back, as if unwavering eye contact would camouflage the fact that he was also sure his eyes were still puffy.

"Yeah," Barclay said, nodding thoughtfully. "Yeah." He stepped forward, then turned around and knelt down. "Climb on up," he said, "I'll carry you."

Joe was almost surprised not to feel fur as he climbed onto Barclay's back and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. He wasn't sure if this whole thing was really as much of a mind-fuck as it seemed, or if he just wasn't coping well with it.

Either way, Barclay's arms were strong under his thighs, and they set off much faster, even with him riding piggyback. He couldn't remember the last time he'd just let his feet dangle like this, and the fact that they still ached, held up in the air like this, was probably not a good sign.

Even without being on his feet, it was a relief to burst into another little clearing on Topside and see Leo Tarkesian and Sarah Drake looking at them, though he couldn't think why either of them would be this close to the actual gate. It was less of a relief to realize that no one else was here.

"Minerva's not Sarah's nickname that I've never heard before, is it?" he whispered.

"No," Barclay answered, his voice tight like he was forcing back - something.

"Oh no," Leo said. "Mama?"

"We don't know," Barclay answered, his voice too calm to be genuine. "She just - vanished. Some kinda - rift?"

"Shit," Leo answered. "I was kinda hoping that was just - Minerva being Minerva. She's, uh - yeah. Rifts. Sucking in instead of spitting out, this time."

Barclay's shoulders sagged, and Joe tapped to be let down to the ground.

He winced as his sore feet hit the ground. Definitely not good. But his feet held, and his legs held, and he was standing awkwardly next to Dr. Drake of the Green Bank Telescope. "I don't suppose you found the other world with the telescope?" he asked her.

"What do you think, Agent?"

"Yeah, well, until I know a hell of a lot more about -" he waved his hand around vaguely, "Everything, it's not like I've got any other kind of lead."

Sarah turned to Barclay. "So is he - cool now?"

"He's alright," Barclay answered, "I trust him."

Joe found himself blushing, which was silly and unhelpful and _definitely _not something he could think about right now, because it would require thinking about a whole lot of other things he'd already decided were too much to handle right now.

He straightened his back and set his shoulders and tried to pretend he was on top of _anything _right now. _Damn_, he was tired. But he couldn't afford that yet, and he especially couldn't afford it in front of civilians. "Ok," he said, "So what do we do now?"

Barclay ran a hand through his hair. "No idea. I was really hoping you guys would - well, I was hoping Minerva could open another rift, since she could do it before, but I guess y'all aren't Minerva anyway."

"Wait," Joe said, the word falling out of his mouth before he realized how out-of-the-loop it made him look. "Minerva can _what_? Who _is _this woman?"

Leo and Sarah both made noncommittal gestures.

"It's kind of Duck's thing," Barclay answered, "I don't really understand it."

"Great," Joseph answered, speaking before he'd thought it through again, which he really needed to stop doing. "You're _from_ the apparently _whole_ _other world_ that _exists_, and even _you _don't know what's going on?"

"We're pretty sure it's at least a little connected to the gate," Leo said, "Far as we can tell. S'why I got chosen when it was in my neck of the woods, and somebody else got chosen when it moved."

Joseph nodded, as if that made sense, and his brain latched onto the only part of it he could really put into context with any of the rest of the day's increasingly huge weirdness. "So, when it moved before, did it - do the rift thing? Should we just be looking for them a couple hundred miles south of here, or waiting for them to get out and call us?"

"I dunno," Leo answered, "I wasn't really - it was different back then, ok? I knew some of this stuff, but not all of it, and I mostly just knew, like, there's monsters out there worth fighting. I didn't ever go _through_ or nothin'."

"Well, alright then," Sarah said, "All we've got is 'wait for them to call.' I can do that from the telescope. It's where Minerva got into our world to begin with, so if the gate didn't move and she and Duck are gonna have to drag 'em out the hard way, it's as good a place to wait as any."

Joe had no idea how he could have missed an _entire person _apparently manifesting herself onto the planet at the telescope, but then, he also wasn't sure how he could have missed having a gateway to another world in his backyard or talking to Bigfoot every day or never noticing that Aubrey could _apparently_ shoot fire out of her hands _for real_.

For a moment, he couldn't put words together. Then he just said, "Ok."

"Well," Leo said, "If we're just waiting on a call, I think I'm gonna go home to my nice, warm bed. I dunno about you, but I'm getting a little old for this, mystical fighting powers or not."

Barclay hunched down, suddenly squatting down onto his heels and bracing himself against the ground, and then squeezing his eyes shut.

He was Bigfoot again, somehow, even with plaid flannel and no fur. Joe tried not to breathe too loudly as Barclay listened. The others were doing the same.

Then Barclay opened his eyes again, sighing. "Yeah," he said. "It's not - there's _something_, maybe, 'cause I don't feel like I'm dying yet, but I'm - _damn_ I hate being useless."

"You're not," Joe said, another instinct reaching up out of his exhaustion before his molasses-slow brain could stop it. "You're, uh-" he continued, trying to save himself, "You're just useful in a different place. They might still need us, when they can get a message through."

Barclay grunted, and Joe wasn't sure if he'd actually helped or not.

Then Barclay straightened up. "Alright. Let's get useful."

"So I guess you're not coming back to the apartments with me?" Leo asked.

Barclay grunted again. "Nah. Duck'd know to find me there, but Mama wouldn't."

"Ah," Leo said, "That makes sense. Well, good luck with the place!"

Joe looked back and forth between the two of them, sure he was missing something.

"You got anything drivable left in your fancy FBI fortress?" Leo asked him.

"Uhh, yeah," he said. "Yeah. I just, uh - I probably shouldn't go back, not that anybody _saw _me help you guys, but... yeah. It's uh - yeah. There's a garage off the road. Not a big one, but it was pretty far from the gate, so - the keys are in a drawer in the security desk. They need to know which vehicles are supposed to be going in and out anyway."

Sarah nodded. "Alright, then. Let's go."

Leo nodded back, and then they were taking off at a pace faster than Leo's comment about getting old would have suggested.

Joe was alone with Barclay. They were in a clearing in the woods, and no one else was around, and his feet hurt, and he couldn't go back to the FBI, and he couldn't go back to the Lodge, and he couldn't go back to Leo Tarkesian's place if Barclay wasn't coming, and he'd already cried once and been carried twice, and there was no use pretending anything different, now that Barclay knew what a tremendous idiot he was.

He let his shoulders sag, gazing tiredly at the man who both was and was not Bigfoot and who made the best grilled cheese sandwich he'd ever had, good enough to make up for the fact that it generally accompanied soup, and he had always hated soup.

"What are you thinking about?" Barclay asked, strain in his eyes that Joseph could not even _begin _to parse.

"Honestly?" he answered, hating the way his voice came out ragged, even though he'd already decided not to try to hide. "Soup."

Barclay laughed, _really _laughed, a deep, warm, echoing belly laugh Joseph hadn't heard in ages. A smile broke through in spite of his exhaustion.

"Soup, huh?" Barclay asked, once he'd caught his breath.

"Yeah," he answered, voice still coming out soft and weird and tired. "Which is weird. I don't even _like_ soup."

Barclay's brow furrowed. "But you were always so careful to get home in time on soup nights."

In for a penny, in for a pound. "You make the best grilled cheese sandwich in the fucking _world_, Barclay. Only an _idiot _wouldn't come home."

Barclay laughed again, but mostly sounded startled. "Alright, well, I guess that works well enough for tonight, anyway. Or... whenever they get back. I'm gonna have a lot of work to do. But grilled cheese is easy enough. And you're welcome to come."

"Come where?" he asked, "I thought we didn't know where they'd come out. If they'd come out. I can't - I can't just go sit at the facility and pretend I wasn't involved, somehow."

Barclay looked at him again, head turned slightly to the side. "The _Lodge_, Stern. Are you alright?"

The Lodge. He missed the Lodge, back before it was just an empty building. He hated himself every day for letting his stupid job ruin it. The FBI was fine, and he'd joined it because it had seemed right, and he didn't regret it, and he regretted every damned day that he wasn't still living at the Lodge, where things felt stupidly, irrationally right and people loved each other more than a bunch of folks in a hotel had any right to do.

He forced himself to meet Barclay's eyes and _oh shit, his eyes were watering again_.

Barclay stepped forward, wrapping a large hand around his shoulder. "Alright, now," he said quietly, "You're just gonna wear yourself out farther if you keep on like that, and you already look like something the cat dragged in, batted around, let out, and dragged back in again. Let's get you home. You can cry in the shower."

A shower. A shower sounded simultaneously like heaven and like hell. Hot water, but at the cost of standing. Being clean, but at the cost of being _awake_.

But Barclay's hand was on his shoulder, and that was something, and he knew which way to go, and that was something, too, and maybe moving would keep him from losing control of himself again. It was always when you stopped moving that you fell apart, and anyway if he didn't break through the inertia now, he'd fall asleep right here.

He nodded at Barclay.

The Lodge. He could focus on the Lodge. He could _move_.

He took a step. It hurt. His feet had hurt the whole time he'd been standing here, aching and pulsing underneath him as he stood perfectly still. But moving was something else entirely.

By the third step, the shock of movement had the pain radiating all the way up to his knees, and by the fifth, he was stumbling on nothing. It didn't matter. He had to get to the Lodge. He had to get to the Lodge, because he missed it and he'd messed it up and-

Barclay caught him by the elbow. "Joseph, are you-"

"I'm not giving it up again," he said, "I fucked it up, but now we're going back, and I'm gonna fix what I can fix and then I'm gonna barricade myself in my room until everybody gives up on making me leave."

He shrugged out of Barclay's grip and took another three wobbly steps, wincing at each one.

"You can hate me, if you want," he said, "Once you remember how bad I ruined everything. You all can. But you - _fuck_." He stumbled again. "You _said_ the Lodge, and just 'cause you're gonna change your mind doesn't mean I can't get there before you can stop me. I'm locking myself in my room until you forgive me or stop being mad at me, or until you all forget I'm there and I can just -" his legs were instinctively trying to change the angles of his feet so that they'd hurt less, and one bad angle almost collapsed his knee. "_Shit_," he said catching himself. "I'm gonna sit there until I believe the world can just - not suck. Because the Lodge is in it. And then I can leave, if you still hate me."

"Whoa!" Barclay sounded genuinely surprised, moving in too-long strides to get in front of him and stop his progress.

Joseph leaned into Barclay's hands on his shoulders, because as much as he didn't want to be stopped, just now, when going was so hard, they at least felt stable.

"Whoa," Barclay said again, "You were just doing your job, Stern. You - you know we know that, right? Not telling you didn't have anything to do with _you_."

"I bet you were glad you didn't get somebody smarter," he said, "I bet you thought it was real funny, me living there all that time."

"You?" Barclay asked, "Mr. Crossword Puzzle?"

"I don't do crosswords."

"No," Barclay shot back, "You just give Ned all the answers when he gets stumped and starts roaring about it." He paused for a moment. "Started," he corrected, sad for the moment, "Got."

"I thought I wasn't supposed to be crying until we made it back."

"Yeah, well, you and me, both, I guess. Come here, you look like hell. Gonna take us forever at that rate."

Before he could react one way or another, Barclay scooped him up in another bridal carry, and he didn't know why it wasn't a piggyback, and he didn't know why he didn't want it to be, and he didn't know why his eyes had started leaking again, because he really _had_ thought he'd started healing from losing Ned Chicane. Who had never really liked him that much anyway. Or trusted him. He'd just been around a lot.

"Oh," he said, with a sniffle, looking up at Barclay's face as the man carried him through the forest, "He was one of you guys, too, wasn't he?"

Barclay managed a smile. "Yeah."

"He know you're Bigfoot?"

Barclay snorted. "Hate to break it to you, given - everything. But that's actually how he got involved. Well, that and the giant black animal goo monster I had to go Bigfoot to drag away from him."

"Huh."

"Yeah, not my best day."

"Woulda been mine."

"Only if you were Ned. And - well."

"Oh," he answered, looking away. "Sorry."

"I mean, in a way it was still some kind of a day for you. That was - that's Ned's footage. He was dressed up in a ratty old Chewbacca suit to make a fake, and then he got just the slightest little bit of something real, and then you showed up."

He kept his head down until Barclay twisted the shoulder beside his head, nudging at him as best he could with his arms full. "Hey. We, uh - I know we kept everything from you, but we all knew we could've gotten worse. Or at least, I did."

"I really didn't mean to ruin everything."

"You really didn't, in the end. Maybe. Depending on the end."

He snorted, a smile twisting his face. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Barclay smiled back, "It means I'm putting the Lodge back together for when Mama comes home, and you can help or not."

Joe bit his lip. "I - I kind of hope you already know the answer's help."

Barclay chuckled, "Yeah, well, not polite to assume. Asses of you and me and all that."

The rest of the walk back to the Lodge was quiet, broken up only by a single moment when Barclay asked him to take off his bracelet and hold onto it until they got home.

He tried not to feel guilty about Barclay carrying him all that way.

It was easier not to feel guilty once Barclay's arms were big and hairy and Bigfoot-y and didn't shake.

It was easier still when the warmth of Barclay's body against his, and the gentle rocking of his steps, and the more-or-less softness of his dirt-spattered fur started making it hard to stay awake. _God_, he was tired. He'd never _been _so tired, and Barclay was right, if he'd started _really_ crying again, hard, and with sobs and all, he might actually have died of exhaustion.

He expected to be set down on the porch, before they entered, but instead, Barclay kept carrying him, and he crossed the threshold in Barclay's arms. Then they crossed the lobby. The front desk. The doorway into Mama's office.

Barclay stepped up to a panel of switches behind Mama's desk and flipped them all on, bringing the Lodge back to humming, electric life. Then he walked around the desk and sank heavily onto the office couch with an exhausted sigh.

Somehow, Joe found himself curled up in Barclay's lap, because he'd never been put down, and it was just one more thing too big to process, today, but at least it meant he didn't have to try to get up and pretend to be awake.

Barclay's breath was soothing, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, and his arms were gentle and safe and strong, and Joe let himself slump sideways, leaning against Barclay's chest and pillowing his head on his shoulder. If Barclay wasn't going to tell him to sit somewhere else, he wasn't going to press the issue.

He was tired, bone tired, and everything _ached_, and his head felt stuffed with cotton, and the fact that he only had cuts and scrapes and bruises and nothing broken or burned or slashed open too deep was a miracle. He had _no _idea why he'd offered to help clean up the Lodge. He wasn't sure he had the strength to make it up the stairs to his own room. He wasn't even sure he had the strength to make it up off this _couch_.

"At least it looks the same in here," Barclay said, "Mostly."

Joe didn't mention that it was just because he'd come back here in some of his off hours and set it right, himself. He didn't say anything, just hummed in agreement and tried to keep his eyes open.

"I ought to get the kitchen running."

Joe hummed again, noncommittally.

"Or the air."

"Hmm." It _was _a little odd being in a building that was the same temperature as outdoors, but he'd almost gotten used to that part while the Lodge was shut down.

"You gonna get off my lap, so I can turn on the air?"

"Unnghhh," he answered, turning his face slightly into Barclay's fur, "You're the one who put me here."

"No, I - well, yeah, I guess I did."

"Are you-" Joe started, before realizing that he definitely did not have an end to that question, and probably wouldn't until he'd slept for at least 24 hours, and possibly showered and eaten and pinched himself a million times to make sure it wasn't a dream.

"Too tired to actually clean this place up?" Barclay finished, and Joe let him, because it was probably the least dangerous of the questions. "Yeah. That adrenaline crash is a real bitch, even with all the extra muscle."

"Maybe especially?" Joe asked, "We oughta - we gotta -" He collected himself, sitting up to look Barclay in the eye, "You're _Bigfoot_."

"Always was."

"I don't even need to be in the FBI anymore," Joe said, the thought just now occurring to him, "I only joined 'cause my dad was in, and it seemed like the only way to hunt Bigfoot he wouldn't make fun of me for."

He realized what he'd said and backed up. "Wait, no. Not - You know I don't mean _hunt_ hunt, right? Just like... seek. Find. Find out about."

Barclay held an arm out, gesturing toward the two of them. "Guess you found me."

"Guess so."

"So what are you gonna do now?"

There were too many answers. Too many possibilities. _Make a joke_, he told himself. What came out was, "Probably not eat soup. Not that you don't make good soup. I'm just... not really a soup person."

Barclay snorted, but it was probably almost a laugh. Maybe. "Guess I ought to carry you up to bed, huh? You're pretty trashed."

"_You're _trashed." He immediately hated himself for sounding like a drunk college kid, but the words were already out.

"This whole forest's trashed. But at least we've got the Lodge."

"S'also trashed. I've been trying to clean it up when I can get out of all the other stuff." Whoops. He hadn't meant to talk about that. He really was tired. _So_ tired. And _warm_.

He felt his head start drooping and forced it up again.

"You fuckin' - of course you did."

Barclay's voice sounded warm, but that couldn't be right. It was his arms that were warm. Right? He forced his eyes open.

"Just go to sleep," Barclay said, his voice rumbling through his chest, deep enough for Joe to feel the vibrations rattling under his own skin.

"S'too far away," he answered.

"Nah," Barclay said, "S'right here."

"Whassat mean?"

"Means I'm too tired to know what it means until tomorrow."

Barclay's voice was still rumbling against his side when Stern slipped sideways into sleep.

*****

Joe woke up with a dry mouth and a sore neck, and he worked out that the horrible noises under his ear were snores a moment before they stopped, choked off suddenly, and he could hear the muffled yelling that had presumably actually woken him.

He sat forward, opening his eyes and rubbing at them. Why had he fallen asleep sitting up? Who was snoring? Why was this chair so - he wasn't in a chair.

"Dudes? I know somebody's here! The lights are on!"

Joe leapt to his feet, only to be hit with a sudden, massive spike of pain as soon as they hit the ground.

"Fuck!" He toppled backward, aiming for a spot on the couch that _wasn't_ occupied, and mostly making it, just barely clipping Barclay's hip with his own.

Only Barclay wasn't Barclay. Barclay was _Bigfoot_, and his feet were _killing _him and _none of that had been a dream_.

Barclay looked equally disoriented, his brow furrowed. Then his eyes widened. "Oh shit!" He scrabbled between the couch cushions, obviously looking for his bracelet.

"I have it." Joe said, reaching into his pocket to retrieve it and holding it out toward Barclay.

"You - you can't -" Barclay said, then stopped, shaking his head a little and squeezing his eyes shut. With them still closed, he nodded twice. "Yeah. You can. That's right."

He opened his eyes and looked up. "I'm sorry, Agent Stern. I just - forgot myself for a moment."

"It's just - just Joseph. Or, uh, Joe if you want? It's - uh - well, like I told Aubrey, I'm pretty sure I'm fired."

Barclay shook his head again, pinching the bridge of his - nose? Snout? Nose. Snouts were for things that had mouths and noses all as one thing. Probably. "Yup," he said, forcing a smile. Joe hadn't spent a lot of time looking at Bigfoot, but he was pretty sure it was forced. "We'll find a way to get you out of it. Don't worry."

The shouting from the lobby was getting closer. "Hello? This isn't funny! Mama says we gotta find _everybody _before the new portal closes."

New portal? Joe's eyes widened, and Barclay's did too, both of them meeting each other's eyes for a moment.

"We're in the office, Jake!" Barclay shouted, before turning back to Joe and adding, more quietly, "Alright, how are you _actually_? You've been stumbling around a lot, and that's - I mean, you look like shit even _without _falling over."

In the electric lights of indoors, it was somehow harder to ignore the matted blood around Barclay's shoulder and across his stomach, or the shorter patches of fur on one side of his head. "You too."

Barclay grunted. "Surface wounds. I'm alright. Thought I'd feel worse, honestly. 'Specially once they broke through the crates."

Jake Coolice burst through the door, stopping short as he realized who was on the couch.

"Whoa," he said, "Dude. Is he cool, now? That's rad."

"Yeah, I found out with the whole -" Joe waved his hand, "Fighting thing. Actually, what _was _that? I'm not sure I ever asked. Besides just 'The Quell.'"

Jake shrugged expressively. "I dunno, man. But come on! Duck says there's prolly a pretty short window before the portals close, so anybody who wants to go back to Sylvain's gotta go _now_. We have to find everybody!"

Barclay's brow furrowed. "I can't leave _now_. The Lodge is a mess."

Jake scoffed. "Bruh. Come _on_. I didn't say you have to _go_. I'm staying, too. But we gotta make sure people get to _decide_, yeah? And anyway, you're gonna feel real dumb if you don't go say goodbye. Didn't you hear? The gates are _closing _soon."

"Oh," Barclay said, "Oh! Yeah. You, uh - why don't you keep looking anywhere you think folks might have ended up and I'll - is my truck still here?"

Joe blushed. "Yeah. Sorry about - all of it. I'm sure you wanted that when you were down in town."

Barclay waved his hand. "S'alright. We've got it now. You go look for everybody else, we'll get ready to ferry anybody you find over - where's the new gate, exactly?"

"Cryptonomica!" Jake said, already halfway out the door, "That dude Billy's room, actually. He quit letting me come over, but I guess everybody gets to go visit now, huh?"

Then he was gone, in a wave of young, laughing energy.

Joseph couldn't even _imagine _having that kind of energy, and he'd had a _nap _and everything. And he wasn't even an old man, yet. Just... not that young anymore, either, apparently.

Barclay grunted, getting up to his feet and rubbing a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Alright. Gotta get the truck. Anything else you can think of we gotta do before we go? Grab the first aid kit? 'Course if they're in town, they've probably already got one. We might have a couple more illusion generators spare, but if folks are leaving, it won't matter if theirs got lost in the fight."

Joe got to his feet again, slowly this time, and winced. "Nope. Yup. Gonna need to get out of these shoes, for sure. I might still have some upstairs. Or is that just my slippers?"

Barclay turned to look at him. He took an experimental step forward and tried to keep up a brave face so Barclay wouldn't notice he was still in pain. He failed, both because he winced and because it was obvious by the time he got to the door that his body was trying to limp with both legs, but couldn't find a foot to favor.

"Alright," Barclay said, hauling him up off his feet and throwing him over his shoulder, "So shoes first, but keep thinking about what else we oughta bring. If we knew who was going and who was staying, we could pack bags, but - hmm."

This was - embarrassing, actually, which was weird, because he hadn't felt that way before, even when Mama was teasing them about being married. He pressed his forearms into Barclay's back and kept his head up, and it was still embarrassing going up the stairs like this.

At least Barclay was polite enough not to be touching his butt.

As Barclay dumped him onto his bed like carrying him up the stairs had been nothing, Joe had to force his mind not to wander from the task at hand. A dozen other thoughts pressed against the edges of his mind, but it was _not time for that_ and he was _still just trying to make Barclay like him at all_, and he sat up at the edge of the bed and forced himself to focus on his feet.

As Barclay turned toward his closet to look for another pair of shoes, Joe unlaced his left one and started pulling it off, only to meet with a slight but unexpected resistance. He furrowed his brow.

Inside the shoe, there was blood. A lot of it. "Huh," he said, staring.

The back of the heel was stained a dark brown on the inside, obvious against the tan inside of the shoe in ways it wasn't from the outside. What had clearly been a pool of blood crusted away from the insole when he touched it. He looked farther in and found a second patch of dried blood on the outside edge where the ball of his foot had been.

He couldn't help feeling like he ought to have noticed he was standing with his heel in blood. Hadn't it been wet? But then, he'd had a lot of adrenaline in his system, until he hadn't, and it _was _hot out. He'd been sweaty everywhere, so maybe that had masked it.

Barclay turned to look at him. "What?" He tipped the shoe up in reply, so that Barclay could see inside. "Shit."

"Yeah."

"Ok, guess we need the first aid kit, after all."

"You should look at your shoulder, too. I hadn't noticed before."

Barclay looked over at his cleaner shoulder, and then at the bloody one. "Oh. Yeah. Right."

"Maybe Jake should take the others back."

"In _my truck_? Absolutely not. Come on, we'll still make it. Just gotta get you patched and me - well, it's not actually that bad a cut underneath, I don't think." Barclay flexed his arms and twisted his shoulder around. "Feels manageable."

Joe nodded, and this time when Barclay reached forward to scoop him up, he was ready for it and reached his arms out to wrap around Barclay's neck.

Barclay set him carefully on the edge of his bathtub, turning the hot water tap to get it warming up. When he'd first gotten here, Joe had resented the way the old plumbing took some time to heat up, but now it was just one more thing that meant he was home.

"Stop staring at the tap and get your other shoe off. I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from the kitchen before Jake's back yammering at us to get a move on."

Barclay's orders were direct, but his voice was soft, and Joe found himself smiling, even as he turned to take the other shoe off.

The right foot was smaller than the left, and worse. His heel was soaked through, and the patch of blood at the ball of his foot was bigger and when he examined his sock, he found blood around his toes, too.

He stared at it, trying to decide whether or not he was glad he'd worn grey socks today. Black would have hidden the blood better.

He was still staring when Barclay came back into the room, first-aid kit in hand.

"Alright," he said, striding forward, "Getting your socks off is gonna be the bad part, if they've scabbed onto your feet. Everything else is gonna be cake."

Joe made a face.

Barclay laughed, which was pretty horrendously unfair of him, all things considered.

"It's alright, I've got you. You're not the first person I know who tried to keep up with Bigfoot. It's a bad habit new Pine Guard folks have always had."

"Pine Guard?" Joe asked, because it beat asking Barclay why he was climbing into the other end of the tub and squatting down.

"We used to fight these things we called 'Abominations.'" he said, adding some cold to the water and testing it with the hairless palms of his hands. "'Course if they were all just the Quell all along, I guess that job's done, too."

Barclay didn't seem scary as Bigfoot. He hadn't seemed scary as Bigfoot since about 2 minutes after he transformed the first time, when Joe had realized he could still _see _Barclay in there, sure as anything. But watching an enormous clawed hand drag his foot under the faucet was a little bit nerve-wracking and a lot bit surreal.

"If Jake's right about the gates closing, we don't have time to soak them all the way off, but at least getting everything wet should help a little bit. Unless you just wanna stay here, of course. You're probably not going to Sylvain."

Barclay laughed at the end, a little amused huff, but Joe reached down and put a hand on his shoulder. "No," he said firmly, "I'm going. I can't let everybody leave without apologizing."

"Joe-" Whatever Barclay had been about to say, he didn't, replacing it with a sigh. "Alright. Let's just get you cleaned up, then."

Watching Barclay's claws pulling his socks off without tearing them ought to have been astounding. All that fur and muscle and claw, and his hands were still so gentle.

Mostly, though, watching just made him nervous, because Barclay was right. His blood had clotted around the thin fabric of his socks, and even Barclay's gentlest prying _hurt_.

The blood started flowing from his heels again, running down the drain like that scene in _Psycho_, only this wasn't secretly chocolate sauce. He squeezed his eyes shut, grunting involuntarily at the pain as Barclay peeled his sock away from the other ripped blisters on the side of his foot.

Barclay made soothing shushing noises as he peeled the rest of the sock away, then patted the back of Joe's calf once he was done.

"Hang in there. Just gotta do the other one."

Joe nodded. "Yup. Other one's my smaller foot. Just gotta - it's like ripping off a band-aid. It's fine."

Barclay snorted, a warm little half-laugh that made Joe wonder if he was rolling his eyes. Well. He could roll his eyes if he wanted. He was Bigfoot. He probably had mystically tough feet. He probably didn't even understand.

Once both socks were off and all of the places where he'd blistered and then ripped open were cleaned as best he could stand under the faucet, Barclay reached a long, furry arm over the side of the tub and picked up the first aid kit. At some point, he'd rearranged himself to kneel at the dry end of the tub, and Joe wasn't sure how he felt about it.

He was even less sure how he felt about Barclay propping his bloody foot up on his thigh to bandage it.

Uncertainty was not his bag, if he could help it. He grabbed some bandages of his own and started patching up his left foot, carefully avoiding any eye contact with the very large monster in his bathtub, who was also his best friend, and maybe it wasn't his fault this was weird. Maybe it was just weird which _parts _of it were weird.

Jake's voice shouted from downstairs, "I found Moira! She thinks she's the only one still around here!"

Joe looked up from his almost-bandaged foot and met Barclay's eyes.

"Well," Barclay said, clearing his throat, "I guess we oughta go, then. You gonna be ok in those old running shoes in the closet?"

Joe nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright, then. You leave my bracelet on the couch downstairs?"

"No," he said, reaching back into his pocket for it, "I still have it."

Barclay nodded seriously, taking the bracelet from him without his claws even quite touching Joe's palm. When he put it on, he shrank down immediately into the old Barclay, with the same worn plaid shirt he usually wore on the weekends, and the same grass-stained jeans from weeding in the front of the lodge, and the _same damned eyes _he'd had a moment ago.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. Barclay raised an eyebrow at him. He blushed, which didn't help much of anything.

"Oh," he said, his voice quiet because somehow even though Barclay hadn't moved, he felt like they were closer together. "Don't worry, I - it's just I was thinking about how much my sister's gonna make fun of me."

"Because?"

"Because I always made fun of her for liking the end of Beauty and the Beast. 'It _is _you,' and all that. But that's really how it is, huh? It's really just... your eyes, all the time."

Barclay _stared_, and Joe blushed harder, and then Jake was yelling, either louder or closer or both, "Dudes, come _on_, we gotta _go_!"

"I'll uh - " Barclay said, a hint of a blush starting on his cheeks, too, "You go get shoes on and I'll carry you piggyback if things get too rough once we're over there."

"I just remembered I packed all my socks."

Barclay laughed. "Ok, then I'll carry you piggyback in general. Your slippers are still here."

"Never leave home with 'em," he joked, like that was anything.

Barclay patted Joe's knee before getting back up to his feet and climbing out of the bathtub, and Joe decided he did _not _want to decide what that meant. "Come on. Jake's gonna explode if we don't get down there soon."

He got up to his feet, wincing again at the pain, and hobbled back into his bedroom, slipping his feet into the cushy slippers in front of the closet and hoping his bandages stayed put well enough to keep them clean. They'd been a Christmas present, after all.

*****

He'd imagined apologizing to Mama about a million times. He'd never imagined doing it in the middle of a battle for the fate of two worlds, and he'd never imagined doing it after she came out of a mysterious portal talking about a _third_ world, and he'd _definitely _never imagined doing it from Barclay's back, in a filthy suit and fluffy slippers.

She took it surprisingly well, all things considered. So did Moira, and Dani, and the rest of them. And then half of them were gone, and the other half were standing in a stinky bedroom that had been, just briefly, a portal to an alien spaceship and from there, another world, and they were all just _staring_ at each other.

"So that's really it, then," Duck said, "It's over."

"Indeed, Wayne Newton!" exclaimed the huge woman with the booming voice who had been standing next to the park ranger since before he and the others made it here. "You have met your destiny - and achieved it!" She'd been introduced to him as Minerva, which still didn't explain a single damned thing, but that was what it was, and he was starting to get a feel for when asking for more information would just leave him with too much.

They fell into silence again, all still staring, and then Jake broke it. "So, uh. I'm gonna go get pizza with Hollis and them, 'cause like... yeah. A couple of the Hornets are in the hospital, and we're gonna smuggle 'em some pizza. Do we, uh - where should I come home to?"

"Amnesty," Barclay said immediately.

The ring of tired faces around them was smaller than it used to be, maybe smaller than it _should _be, even, but their smiles were beautiful.

"Do I gotta go back to Leo's to pack my stuff, or-"

"Wait 'til I can come by with the truck," Barclay answered. "No reason to shake everybody up and go to all the trouble tonight. Enough of us are hurtin' to leave the bag-hauling until tomorrow."

"And, uh-" Joseph added, "Maybe better to keep things a little quieter until I can figure out what to tell the FBI. They're, um - yeah. I tried to keep people out of the Lodge as much as I could and clean things up and all, but - I better get them out of your hair before we make a big production out of moving back in."

The "we" slipped out of his mouth before he'd thought it through, and he flinched, but Barclay patted his knee and nobody else seemed to think anything of it.

"That's alright," Mama said. "You've lived here long enough. You can be on the cleaning crew once we get it going."

He groaned, but by the way everybody laughed, he got the feeling they knew he was faking it.

"Grilled cheese sandwiches and soup tonight, then," Barclay said. "Probably not the good kind, if I'm honest. It's been a long day. But I got some cans back at the Lodge for just in case, and there's probably enough of 'em if it's just us."

Duck groaned. "Man, that sounds good. Even if it ain't French Onion. Maybe Minerva and me oughta come too. I think I got extra bread in the fridge at home. Extra bread? Is that anything?"

Barclay laughed, "It ain't _nothin'_! Bring it by, I guess. We'll probably be alright."

"We're always alright," Mama said. "We'll just be a little better once we can get back on our feet, is all."

He both was and wasn't used to that kind of bold-faced optimism from Mama. Sure, he'd always known she loved the Lodge's permanent residents, and sure she'd kept that ramshackle old hotel running like it wasn't ramshackle at all, but he'd always thought of her as, well, practical. Then again, she'd apparently been fighting monsters and liaising with another world this whole time, so maybe he'd been wrong.

Either way, Barclay squeezed his knee, and Moira's grin encompassed both of them, not just Barclay, and he didn't mind sitting in the back of the truck bed with Moira on the way back to the Lodge, once it turned out that meant finding out how a _ghost _managed to be solid enough for a _truck_. (It was mostly her necklace, which looked at last as breakable as Barclay's bracelet, and which he was pretty sure he was never going to understand.)

*****

By the time Jake stepped into the lobby, letting the front doors bang shut behind him, Mama had gone back to her office, Duck and Minerva were asleep on the lobby couches, snoring out of time with each other, and Joseph was staring blankly into the fireplace from his seat on the counter next to Barclay's kitchen window.

He'd stopped passing food out from the kitchen to the others ages ago, and he'd never been that useful at it to begin with, hobbling a little even in his slippers so that they mostly took pity on him and came to get their second sandwiches and soup refills themselves.

Moira was playing the piano, and Barclay was washing dishes, and the slamming door and heavy, booted footsteps that broke the peace of it were both so familiar that Joe almost cried.

"Hey dude! Why are you still up?"

Jake's voice was bright and spirited and, impossibly, _still _held none of the resentment he'd been so afraid of.

"Jake," he whispered, as loudly as he could, a stage whisper, really, to carry all that way, and more for show than anything. "People are sleeping!"

It was a testament to how intense today had been that Duck and Minerva just slept on, though Moira's piano playing had stopped so that she could float over to Jake.

"How was the hospital?" she asked, just barely loud enough for Joe to make out. Any other day, he'd have hopped down and gone over there, but then, any other day he wouldn't be propped up here anyway, because his feet wouldn't hurt so badly to begin with.

"Yeah, good! It's like... sure, it's a bummer there's a couple broken legs and a fucked-up wrist and all, but everybody's ok and, like, nobody needed more than a dozen stitches, and the doctors said they'd prolly have let everybody go if the monsters hadn't been so dirty, but they just had to watch out for infections."

"Oh hey!" Jake added, louder again, and Joe squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to laugh. "Agent Stern! You gotta make sure everybody watches out for infection!"

"Call me Joe!" he said, half-yelling in return, "I told you, I'm about to get fired!"

"Fire?" a groggy voice said from the couch, "Wherezza fire? S'it Pigeon again, 'cause I already tol' her, jus' 'cause we're friens... oh."

Duck sat up, pulling his had back onto his head and looking around at all of them.

"Oh!" Jake said, "Sorry 'bout that, Mr. Duck! Everybody was being kinda loud at the hospital, so I forgot."

That, at least, Joseph believed. He'd talked to enough townsfolk about the Hornets, and with the rest of the hospital evacuated - probably by the Pine Guard, he realized, suddenly - he doubted they were toning down their usual chaos any.

"What time is it?" Duck asked.

The sounds of water splashing softly in the kitchen hadn't stopped, but apparently Barclay was listening anyway, because he answered immediately, "Quarter to six. You might as well stay up, unless you're gonna sleep in."

_How_? He knew all the chaos had started a little after sundown, but... but... _how_.

Duck seemed equally surprised. "Shit."

Barclay laughed. "Yeah, I'm a little surprised y'all aren't seeing a glow in the east yet."

Duck groaned. "Well, that is _definitely _not gonna work for me. I don't suppose y'all got any guest rooms with blackout curtains?"

"D'you know, we actually do?" Barclay said, "Nocturnal sylphs might not burn up in the sun, but it don't mean everybody _likes_ it. Joe, you wanna go ahead and grab him the keys to 4 West? I'm almost done back here. And anyone who wants breakfast can have _cereal_."

Joe made a face, purely because he knew Barclay couldn't see it through the back of his head. Apparently, everyone who'd said he was welcome to be part of the Lodge now meant it.

He slid down off the counter, wincing, only for Jake to sprint past him. "Nah, I got it! You need any extra towels for the shower or anything?"

Duck groaned deeply as he stood up, popping his back and rolling his head around his shoulders. "Damn. A shower sounds like just about the best thing I can think of. Long as there's enough towels in there already for me and 'Nerva both, we should be alright. Unless you got two rooms with the good shades?"

Jake laughed, a good-spirited cackle. "I'll get the keys to 5 West, too."

Duck turned and started shaking Minerva's shoulder. She almost took his head off, startled, but then apologized in what he was increasingly beginning to recognize as her usual booming half-shout.

Joe took one look at the counter he'd been perched on and decided it was _entirely _too high to be jumping up on at 5:45. He hobbled to one of the big armchairs nearer the fire pit and sank into it, wishing he had a first-floor room, too.

Jake got Duck and Minerva settled, and then headed back to his room at the other end, patting Joe slightly too hard on the shoulder as he walked by. Moira had left, and the kitchen was harder to hear from here, and he was pretty sure there was faint snoring coming from Mama's office. Maybe the couch. It had looked comfortable, though he'd mostly ended up napping on Barclay, which was still - nope - definitely not something he had the brainpower to think about.

He'd almost dozed off in the chair when all of a sudden, Barclay was standing in front of him, a hand out toward him. "Come on," he said warmly, "I think you and me need some showers, too. Of all the days to have rooms upstairs-"

He chuckled, but managed a sympathetic look when Joe groaned.

"No!" he said as Barclay hauled him to his feet and then, noticing his wince, swept him up into another bridal carry, which was fine and normal and not weird and shouldn't feel weird, and which he didn't need to think about. "No shower. Showers are standing."

"Bath, then. I can run you one, but I'm not stripping you down, just so you know."

They were halfway to the stairs. Joe grunted anyway. "Bathtub's too small."

"Come on, Agent Stern, you heard Jake. We've gotta watch out for infection."

"Watch out for infection tomorrow," he grumbled, "And it's Joe."

"Well, I'm not about to dump you in the hot springs in the back, _Joe_."

"Shit. Why'd I pack my swimsuit for the FBI? The FBI doesn't even have a swimming pool. I was living in a _tent_. And they still made me wear a _suit_."

Barclay laughed. "Aww come on. That spring water's not gonna keep you from getting an infection, either."

"It might."

"It won't."

"We could hose off before we went in."

"I'm not gonna _hose you off _when you're too tired to _stand_."

"Bet you fit in there better'n a bathtub, too. You bein' Bigfoot and shit. And it's still cleaner than all that Quell goop. And it's _warm_. I bet Duck an' Minerva're using up all the hot water."

They were three quarters of the way up the stairs, and at the thought of a _cold _bath, Barclay stopped dead anyway. "Fuck. I wasn't here to clean the old water heater out last time it was due. It's gonna be cold as shit by the time it gets upstairs."

"The springs are _warm_. And my feet won't hit the other end."

"You don't have a swimsuit." Barclay still wasn't moving, and Joe could tell he was winning, though he actually wasn't sure why it mattered, other than that he'd started arguing.

"Bet Jake has an extra."

"You're not waking Jake up if he's actually asleep. Nobody'll get any peace."

"Well, I'm not skinny dipping."

Barclay turned around and started heading back down the stairs. "'Course not. Boxers. Bet you have some dry ones upstairs still for after. You got all those sweaters and things."

"Are _you _skinny dipping?"

Barclay laughed. "Also boxers."

"I wear boxer-briefs."

"Course you do."

There really was a light in the east by the time they made it to the springs out back. Barclay put him down on a deck chair and then looked long and hard into the woods around them before he removed his bracelet and started shucking his pants off.

Joe laughed. "It forgot to occur to me, 'cause you're _you_, and I know _you_, but I never once saw anything about Bigfoot wearing pants."

"What, you thought I was small enough you couldn't see anything through the fur?"

It was a joke, was obviously a joke, but Joe felt himself blushing and started working on the buttons at the front of his shirt so he wouldn't have to look up. He was missing a few more buttons than he remembered losing, but his fingers were fumbling a little with how tired he was, so it was probably alright. It was closed, anyway, which was good enough.

Barclay stripped to his underwear first, and started pulling towels out of the little shack they usually used for changing in.

It almost wasn't terrible standing up to get his pants off, knowing he was about to be in warm water, and knowing Barclay wasn't watching for the moment.

He still sank back onto the chair as soon as he'd managed to kick them off. Just a breather before he walked all those feet to the edge of the water.

Just a breather.

He stared, forlorn, at the water and the feet between him and it, as an early-morning breeze raised goosebumps across his shoulders and he tried to convince himself this was just a breather.

Barclay laughed as he dumped an armful of towels behind Joe on the chair. "Alright, quit makin' that kicked-puppy face. I got ya."

He'd thought Barclay felt warm through his suit. Now, with his skin right up against fur, and the breeze still blowing in, cool, from behind them, the experience was something else entirely. He hoped Barclay would put the shiver that ran through him down to the breeze. It was mostly just because of the breeze. Probably.

It was a relief to sink into the water, once Barclay got in deep enough for it to reach him, where he was tucked against his chest. It was a relief to be let go of, and to find a seat on one of the rough-hewn stone benches someone - maybe Barclay, given the Bigfoot strength - had driven into the sides of the spring. It was a relief when Barclay settled in right next to him, still close enough to reach for, not that he needed to, or needed to think about it.

"You ok?" Barclay asked.

Joe closed his eyes, feeling out his body. The warmth was already soothing everywhere that was bruised or strained or achy. He'd need to replace his soaked foot bandages before he went to bed, but that was decidedly a later problem. He'd noticed some of his scrapes and scratches more once he was getting undressed, but they didn't sting in the water, or anything. His feet floated in front of him, blessedly cushioned by the water so that they didn't press up against _anything_, even a little.

He opened his eyes again. "Yeah. I'm good."

Barclay nodded, then pushed out, away from the wall and into a slightly deeper part of the water, where he spun himself around in a circle, dove under, swished his shoulders around, came up again, and shook himself a bit like a dog. Whatever he was doing with his washing-machine twists and his dog shakes was working, the dirt and grime and dried blood drifting off of him and disappearing into the water.

Joe slid down on his bench, getting his shoulders all the way underwater, then took a deep breath just long enough to get his head down and shake it back and forth until his hair was wet and he had to come back up to breathe.

He tried to convince himself he shouldn't feel guilty about getting the springs dirty. They were outside. They were already dirty. The plants and shit would take care of it. Right?

Barclay backed up all the way to the other bank, getting up into the shallows until Joe could see the top of the elastic on his boxers peeking up over the water. Then he shook himself in earnest, like the biggest, hairiest, Chewbacca-est dog anyone had ever seen.

Joe found himself laughing and he couldn't be sure why.

Barclay looked at him, a glint visible in his eye even from this distance.

Joe had heard a genuine full-scale Bigfoot roar when Mama disappeared. The roar Barclay let out as he charged back across the spring toward him was a third of the volume and dangerously close to turning into a laugh, too.

Barclay's claws hit right behind Joe's shoulders. "You laughin' at something?"

"You done putting on a show?"

For a moment, they locked eyes, faces close together like it would make either of them believe the glare was real. It occurred, vaguely, to Joe that he probably ought to be afraid of Bigfoot. It occurred, vaguely, to Joe that having Bigfoot snarling in his face with his claws near his head was probably dangerous.

Both of them broke at once, bursting into laughter as Barclay pushed backward, out of his space again, and floated, his clawed toes sticking out of the water where his chest had been a moment before.

The glow in the east was getting brighter. Joe almost didn't need the lights around the spring to see Barclay, anymore.

"You're a loser," Barclay said, "Staying here when you could be having big FBI adventures."

"What's that make you, Mr. Can't-Leave-While-The-Kitchen's-Dirty?"

Barclay laughed again, coming back to take a seat on the bench next to Joe like he'd never left it at all. "Come on, now, you know when I said that, the place was spotless. Actually, it still is. Again."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't let them leave your kitchen trashed, could I?"

Barclay nudged him with his shoulder. "Really?

"Yeah. Watch who you're calling a loser."

The automatic lights turned themselves off with a clunk, the sunrise close enough, now, to be separating itself into lines of pink and orange, layers of clouds lighting up from beneath.

"I'm glad you know, actually."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. That thing Aubrey said, about us being best friends? It's not the _most _untrue."

Joe leaned into Barclay's side, intending to make it a nudge, but then staying put at the last minute. "Aww. How sweet."

"Can it." Barclay's shove was definitely a shove, but then he flung a wet, drippy, furry arm over Joe's shoulders to make up for it. "You know how much I've been needing another adult in this madhouse."

"You've got Mama."

"She's got grey hair. She hasn't got _sense_."

"I joined the FBI to look for Bigfoot. _I _haven't got sense."

"I'm pretty sure being Bigfoot gives me the right to decide on that one."

"Maybe."

"Maybe."

"Anyway, I'm still glad you know. It's - it's not good, people knowing. But it's not good keeping it secret, either, once you've gotten used to somebody."

"Yeah, well, pretty sure I'd never forgive myself if I left now." He knew he meant that, but he didn't know why. The sunrise was getting more vibrant. He decided he didn't _need _to know why.

"We can tell the FBI we kidnapped you. Forced you to go along."

"Only if you let me tell the FBI I'm pretty sure there's still stuff going on around here. I told you, I'm not leaving."

"Nah?"

"Nah."

"Alright. Maybe you can be the handyman. Saves me having to be that _and _the cook."

"You know 90% of my training was actually for an office job, right? I'm not actually some kind of _Air Force One _movie superspy or anything."

Barclay laughed. "_Air Force One_? That's your pull?"

"Harrison Ford's a carpenter!"

"Yeah, and he plays the _President_! You're supposed to be the one who's good at trivia."

"Not at ass o'clock in the morning," Joe answered grumpily.

Barclay studied the horizon. "Sun's coming up. 'S not ass o'clock when the sun's coming up."

Joe had a retort on his tongue, but when he turned to deliver it, something about the way the light caught Barclay's eyes silenced him. They were just - _Barclay_. And the golden light of the morning was shining in them, and it was picking out the details of his wet fur, shining off the beads of water caught in it, and Joe wanted to look forever, right up until a moment later, when he couldn't look at all.

He turned his head back to the sunlight, snuggling a little farther into Barclay's side, since Barclay hadn't bothered to remove his arm from his shoulders yet, anyway.

"Well, you better still be my friend when I get fired tomorrow."

"Today. And you're not gonna get fired."

"Tomorrow, 'cause there's no _way _I'm making it to the office by 8. Today, 8 is _also _ass o'clock."

Barclay still hadn't moved his arm, and he kept not moving it, nudging the side of Joe's head with his own, instead. "I think I can keep you on the schedule as a best friend until at least Friday."

"Friday, huh?"

"Maybe longer. Weekends and holidays off, of course."

"Huh. I'd planned to be best friends the _most _on weekends and holidays. Guess I'll have to find a job that keeps me here all week."

"Guess you will."

"Hmm."

For a moment, he was tempted to say something else, to just talk for the sake of talking. But then Barclay sighed, and he turned just enough to see that same golden-light look still there on his face, and he gave into the silence, tucking his head into the join of Barclay's chest and shoulder and taking a deep breath of the steamy air over the spring.

They watched the sun come up, all dingy scratched skin and wet fur and warmth, and Joe knew by the time it cleared the horizon that he was staying here forever, one way or another.


End file.
